Fight 2, Round 3
by punksxtyper
Summary: On the verge of Punk's second UFC fight, his chance at redemption, a recurring pattern enters his life amongst the repercussions of justice being served in court. Because 4m can't compare to the 3 life gives.


**Hi Beautiful Readers,** **Welcome to my 1st story on my NEW Punklee (Punk/AJ, WWE) Typer (Tyler/Piper, Neighbours) account! I haven't written fictional creative writing for about 4 years now. The many reasons why can be found on my Twitter... search for tweets with 'punksxtyper' for the actual account username. Thus this account will only feature, you guessed it, stories that contain these two ships. If you're not Australian or from the UK you probably have no idea what Neighbours is. Either way, Wrestling fans, Neighbours fans or both, I welcome you.** **I was so extremely proud of Punk but obviously disappointed with the result of his second fight, which we all were. But I was truly blown away with the unexpected amount of positivity that came flooding in, a paradox from the ever-brutal nature of Wrestling Stan twitter. Our boy deserved every good word of it.** **This plot has been looming around in my head for weeks now and this was the hasty result.** **Only comment criticism constructively- I am a peacekeeper INFP personality after all! Lol.** **Thankyou so much for reading. I really hope you enjoy. Any further comments or simple requests to connect can go directly to this account's username followed by a gmail. com**. **God Bless. x**

Phil stared down at his hands through the tips of his eyelashes, which usually are painfully dry from being covered with UFC-adorned gloves day in day out. But, admittedly, in the last 15 minutes especially, they've produced bucket loads of moisture. His eyes from that downward glance then seal shut for just a few seconds. Peace amongst the chaos he attempts to find, though understandably tough with a billion-dollar company with hotshot lawyers trying to fight you in a legal court case. Sighing, confident and tense and worried and relieved for the verdict he knows is inevitable, he turns to his wife, his gorgeous and loyal wife, who has undoubtedly been his rock and wait- is she _crying_?!

"Ape!" he exclaims, easily spotting her in a dark blue business woman-like dress in a sea of black dress pants worn by the jury and each side's respective lawyers alike. "Babe, are you OK? Was testifying too much? I feel silly now. You were just eating ice cream and sleeping for 20 hours last week. I should've known this would only make your mental health worse..." he rambles.

"Phil, honey, no!" April said, once known as AJ Lee to the company she once called home. But right now, amidst facing said company in a very lengthy, very public lawsuit, only just moments ago rehashing the darkest parts of the couple's working years, the retired Divas Champion saw the WWE as more of an asylum. And she had been in a hospital one before. She grabbed her husband's hand, running her thumb over his wedding ring. "I said, from the very beginning, that I'd testify. You waited until our honeymoon was finished to tell me Vince was walking into trouble messing with you. But do you remember what I said when you finally did tell me?"

Punk smiled bashfully, staring romantically into his love's eyes while recounting the impact of that sentence. The calm before the storm. He nodded, letting out a small amused chuckle under his breath. "Hmmm. You said, 'He messed with you. So he messed with me. Now he messes with _us_.'"

"Good." She said. "I'm glad you didn't forget that statement. I really meant it, you know."

"Ape, I know you did. For one, you don't do anything half-arse. Two, Scott got dragged into it, then you, now the media. You did promise messy. It's as messy as one can get" he explained.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled slyly, inhaling loudly. " _Well_ ," she started. "It's enough legality for one life. I don't know about you, but I just wanna forget this ever happened and move on. It's piled years onto my appearance. I'm not 40 yet unlike you, Grandpa..." she smirked with a twinkle in her eye, playfully fixing his tie which turned slightly crooked amongst his slightly nervous pacing.

"You watch your mouth. I'm not 40 'til October!" he retorted, equally as amused, eyes shining, lips upturned. Besides, what kind of 30-something aged couple would they be if their marriage didn't consist of back-and-forth banter? "And you look beautiful..." he added. "I really mean it." He lifted up her face by the underside of her chin, cupping her tiny face. 'Fuck Vince. Fuck WWE' he thought in that moment of staring at his wife's beautiful face. 'This is where my loyalties lie. THIS is my life's achievement. Landing her. Hearing her laugh ring through my ears' the little voice inside his head shouted.

"I really."

He pecked her lips.

"Really..."

He did it again.

" _Really_ **mean it**."

He insisted, sealing his promise with a final deep, sweet kiss.

"Oh Phil, I..." she stared up at him, eyes glassed over from gratitude, taking a moment to thank the God she doesn't believe in for giving her him. Wondering how she got so lucky. Still hazy from such a sweet gesture that was her husband's lips on hers, communicating the reassurance to her strong, albeit self-concious brain that in his eyes, she was still beautiful, she struggled to find words that were enough to say back. Maybe it was the stress they've both felt in the last 48 hours, 2 weeks, 4 years talking, but she was far too mentally and emotionally exhausted to respond verbally. Rather, she scratched the crown of his head, where the shortest lengths of his newly-cut hair resided. That was _their_ language. That was all he needed.

And when the verdict resulted all in favour of him and his former best friend Scott, it was his turn to soothingly scratch the back of his wife's head as she howled in relief. He kept one arm around her waist but jolted his other half of his body forward when said ex-BFF approached him, his arm taking his hand to shake brotherly, his eyes left with the faintest marks of tear tracks himself. Colt never cried.

"Thankyou, Phil." He said with full sincerity. A little awkward apprehension shined through his eyes, though probably caused from the lack of contact and friendship the two men have had as of late. "We got those assholes!" he added, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Yeah..." Punk smiled, genuinely. An action he hadn't done towards his former Second City Saints partner in a long time. "Thanks mate. Glad it's all over" he looked up at him, sighing.

"See you later. Congratulations guys. Keep well, April" he smiled at her before walking off to go back to the airport. He had an Indy show to get to.

There was a look of knowing in his eyes that told AJ he wasn't just talking about the result of the lawsuit.

"What was that look you two just shared?" he his wife, walking hand in hand to the car once Scott was out of eyesight. "He better not be getting lucky with you. The dick already just won four million dollars!" he joked, nudging her on her shoulder.

"Never!" she replied playfully with a laugh, both knowing that would never happen. That shreik of laughter truly was music to Punk's ears.

"... I'm on to you, Brooks." He stated, stirring her up while deep down trying to think of the answer.

" _Mendez-Brooks, remember_?" AJ added, smiling at him, craning her neck to shine that megawatt smile at him her wrestling character was known for. Although this was a genuine grin on the coattails of the satisfaction of her spouse winning a lawsuit and playful banter with her husband she undoubtedly loved, not from the scripted, slightly evil result of retaining her Divas Championship from rival Nikki Bella.

"Damn you, woman!" he finished. "Latin blood is no joke. Remind me of the hyphenated name why don't you." Punk retorted, smiling nonetheless while shaking his head, opening the car door for her. Their UFC-appointed driver knew by now that that was his job.

Once they were seated into the SUV, taking advantage of the darkness the car's tinted windows gave, his wife immediately laid her head down on his lap, closing his eyes.

"Don't fall asleep, babe" he peered down at her. "We have to be dropped back home to change. You have a book meeting. I have training." He said.

"Hmmm" April sighed, her hand grabbing his legs and her cheeks snuggling closer into him. "Just a little nap, _please_ babe... " she pleaded. He made her sit up to look at him by fumbling around in his pocket, trying to find his phone.

"It's..." He turned his phone on to look for the time. "3:33." He read. "You've got that podcast interview call at 4:15, remember?" he reminded her.

" ** _Ohhhhkayyyyy then_**..." she succumbed, latching back onto his arm, reaching for her own phone to scroll on to keep her alert. Maybe she'll tweet a bit.

His mind suddenly wandered. '3 is absolutely everywhere lately' he thought. 'The figure of compensation we're getting was 3-point-something. I fight in 3 days. I need to lose 13 more pounds with this weight cut...' he pondered.

"You're thinking out loud." AJ looked at him.

"Maybe I'm gonna win based on the 3rd round. Maybe Jackson will tap to me with 3 minutes left..." he suggested.

"Maybe that's why 3's been a power number lately. Am I crazy?" he asked his wife.

"No... " she smirked. "That's my job."

"And yeah... Maybe..." she played along. She knew the real reason why, but that's for when after his hand is raised in the octagon.

"STOP!" the horn sounded in Chicago's United Center, signalling the end of the fight. Her husband was slightly bloodied, slightly antsy and very sweaty. He looked so hot, she thought, as he grabbed the official's hand waiting for the result.

"No... " she sighed dissapointedly, albeit a sense of elation and pride tickling the same breath that was let out when Mike Jackson's hand was raised.

She kissed him hard, communicating it all, as their love language is- in a world where they used to spit out fiery words in the form of entertainment scripts, this was how they talked. This was _their_ language. This was _their_ dialogue.

"I don't get it..." He later breathed to his wife while sitting at the establishment's restaurant. VIP sectioned loveseat to themselves. Winner of the fight or not- he deserved that giant rib-eye he's currently moving around his plate. He's been on a strict diet regime for what felt like forever. 1-1 may not look good on a fight record, but it was his perfect idea of how he'd spend time with his wife.

"I for sure thought that something would come out of this day that revolved around 3..." he exclaimed, shaking his head. "I'm so confused. Not that we're religious or anything, but call me cooky- there was a reason 3 is everywhere..." he insisted.

"I know why, babe..." AJ bit her lip at him shyly. There was an innocent joy in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before. Only, once before, he actually did see that look in her pupils. His mind went back to that knowing look she shared with Scott a few days ago.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt her soft hands grab his and pull them under the table. She lifted up her shirt and stroked the letters that spelt 'Straight Edge' on his fingers, placing his palms on her flat stomach.

"He was saying 'Congratulations, Daddy'..." she giggled. Elatedly. Tearfully.

His smile was enough to break his jaw.

'Fuck the fight' he then added to his list of things.

He was the real winner in life.

He finally received his 3 by becoming 3.


End file.
